For the Best
by BlackandGray
Summary: Goku is dead. Chichi is depressed. Goten won't stop crying. Gohan doesn't want to be a burden. He leaves his home to make it easier for his mother. Can a certain Satan convince him to go home? Rated M for some slight swearing just to be safe.
1. Just Like Him

_A/N:_ Two years after joining this site and I'm finally posting fics. I never thought this would happen, but it has! Oh my God! So, since this is one of my first fics, please review. Any kind will do as long as there's something!

_Summary:_ Goku is dead. Chichi is depressed. Goten won't stop crying. Gohan doesn't want to be a burden. He leaves his home to make it easier for his mother. Can a certain Satan convince him to go home? Rated T for a teeny bit of swearing.

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing! If I did, I wouldn't be wasting time writing this. So you can't sue me, nah nah nah nah nah!

Chapter 1: Just Like Him 

"_It's easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb. It's so much easier to go, then face all this pain here all alone."_ Linkin Park, 'Easier to Run'

Everyone was there for the party.

Actually, it wouldn't be right to call it a party, because while there was food, music and laughter, it had a depressive quality to it. It was more of a gathering in remembrance of Goku, who had died in the Cell Games almost eight months ago. No one added more to this subtle somber note than the Son's.

Chichi, who was at this time very pregnant, tried to put up a brave face and joined in the conversation eagerly, telling comical stories about her and Goku's life together. But whenever the silence stretched too long, she would start crying. The Ox King had taken the death of his favorite (and only) son-in-law as hard as everybody else. Yet he did his best to act cheerful to console Chichi and brighten up his grandson, but had little to no success.

Then there was Gohan, who didn't even attempt a word or a smile. Upon entering the Capsule Corp. party room, he had gone over and leaned against the wall with his sensei Piccolo and, surprisingly, Vegeta. Everyone knew Gohan blamed himself for the death of his father, and that he was falling in a depression that worsened every passing day. Nothing anyone said could have made it any better. In fact, it seemed to make it worse.

Time went by and everyone (except for the three on the wall) shared stories about their adventures and fun with Goku. Soon Vegeta had left to get something to eat, and Piccolo had begun to meditate, pretty much leaving Gohan alone. Bulma took this opportunity to go talk to the young hybrid.

"Hey Gohan, how ya doin'?" she asked brightly as she approached him. He looked up at her briefly before returning his gaze to the ground. He said, "Fine Bulma, never better," in a muted monotone, like he had said it a hundred times before. Bulma supposed that he probably had.

" 'Fine Bulma, never better'? Is that all you have to say to me? You should be more courteous Gohan, I am your godmother after all," she said haughtily. She thought she saw a shadow of a smile on his face, and smiled to herself. Mission one accomplished. Now to get him talking.

"C'mon kiddo, I know you, you're just like your father. You're usually a bright and happy kid, and now that's gone, and we all kind of miss you. We all saw what happened Gohan, and none of it was your fault. No one here blames you for what happened. We're all worried about you. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" She put on her most charming smile and the begging eyes. Gohan just stared at her, and she was about to start over when he sighed.

"I-" He was interrupted by a scream halfway across the room.

Everyone turned to see Chichi holding her stomach in apparent agony, and screaming again. "She's going into labor!" somebody yelled, and soon the room was in utter chaos as everyone tried to get Chichi to the medical wing of CC. After she was finally brought there, Bulma told Gohan and everyone else to wait outside the delivery room. "Trust me, you really don't want to be in here."

Everyone milled about in the waiting room, poker playing, grumbling, meditating, or pacing. The silence was sometimes pierced by a loud scream from behind the supposedly sound proof walls. Whenever this happened, they all had to struggle to keep Gohan from bursting into the room.

About ten hours after Chichi had gone into labor, half the party had left, there had been no word from Bulma, Gohan was close to wearing a path in the floor, and Vegeta kept coming back to see if his mate was finished with 'the harpy' yet. Finally the doors opened and Bulma was smiling.

"It's a boy!" Everyone smiled. "And they're both fine. Gohan, you can go see them now."

Chichi was drowsy, but awake. The baby in her arms however, was fast asleep. Gohan went over and sat down on a chair next to her bedside. "Hey mom. You okay?" Chichi smiled at the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine, Gohan. I want you to meet your brother Goten," she said in a quiet voice, and shifted her arms so Gohan could get a better look. What Gohan saw was a miniature replica of his father. The same nose, the same face, even the same hairstyle, though it went the other way. "Do you want to hold him?" she asked. Gohan looked at her sharply.

"Hold him? What if I drop him, or he starts moving, or-" he was interrupted as Chichi shushed him. She smiled sadly at him.

"You're just like Goku. He was scared to hold you, too." She lifted the baby up in its bundle of blankets and laid it gently in Gohan's hands. "That's it, put your hand behind his neck. There, you're holding him." She smiled genuinely as she watched her eldest son hold the sleeping newborn. Gohan couldn't help but smile as well.

"Hi Goten," he whispered to the baby. "You're my little brother. So I guess that makes me your big brother." It was at this moment that little Goten opened his eyes. He stared at Gohan in a kind of wonder. Then he opened his mouth wide and wailed.

Gohan's smile vanished and his face looked panicked. What was he supposed to do? Why was Goten crying? Hungry? Diaper change? What? What! WHAT? Before he could go into a frenzy, Chichi easily slipped Goten from Gohan's grasp and within seconds had Goten quiet.

Gohan just stared as Chichi cradled Goten. Why had Goten cried like that? He knew that babies often cried, sometimes for no reason at all. But that had seemed more like a scream, a cry to get away from him. Why? Didn't Goten like him? He shook his head. It was stupid to think like that. Goten just wanted his mother. He was being stupid.

It was just coincidence.

The arrival of the baby Goten also brought about the end of peace and quiet in the Son household. Apparently Goten couldn't go two hours without a feeding, and that included well into the night. Being half saiyan, Goten was also able to learn how to crawl faster than regular babies, and was soon getting into things and disappearing from one room to another in the blink of an eye.

As it turned out, that time in CC was not a coincidence. Goten would not let Gohan touch him. He would bawl constantly if Gohan were to pick him up, and when he learned to crawl, he began to crawl away or go into a different room from Gohan.

That left Chichi to take care of Goten and Gohan all by herself. She piled homework and extra studies on Gohan in hopes of keeping him occupied while she took care of Goten and other things. She had hoped that when Goten was born, Gohan would come out of his cheerlessness and be able to be a big brother/father to Goten and become her brilliant, happy scholar once again.

She now saw that it wasn't so, that Gohan seemed to be getting unhappier every day. She wanted to help him, to talk to him. But between the baby, cleaning, shopping, cooking and his studies, she didn't have the time or the energy.

Gohan was indeed becoming more depressed everyday. His brother couldn't stand him. His mother didn't have the time for him. His father wouldn't come back to them. He laid down his pencil and sighed. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like if he had been the one to sacrifice himself.

His father would have lived of course, and his parent's would have wished him back. Then Goten would have had both his parents, and been happy. He opened his eyes and crashed back to reality. It was just mom, Goten and him, and they were miserable.

He rose from his desk and walked around his room, stretching his legs. He hadn't trained in a while. Maybe he'd go see what Piccolo was up to. He hadn't seen his sensei since Goten's birth.

He walked out of his room to go tell his mom where he was going. She'd probably have a nervous breakdown if she found him missing. She wasn't in the kitchen, and he grabbed a snack on his way through. She wasn't in the living room, but Goten was, and Gohan quickly left before he started crying. He went to see if she was in her room, when he heard a voice as he passed the window.

It was Chichi, and she sounded like she was talking to somebody. He looked through the window, and saw her holding a phone to her ear with one hand and holding a tissue in the other. Her eyes looked red.

"It gets so hard sometimes, Bulma, trying to take care of both of them. Gohan is so depressed, and I'm not making it any better. Goten won't even come near him. Huh? No, no, I've tried that, but Goten will start crying if Gohan gets within three feet of him. And then there's the house to take care of and the bills to pay, and I can't help but think about how much easier it would be if there was only one of them…"

Gohan turned away from the window and walked back to his bedroom in a kind of daze. He really needed to talk to someone. Best not to interrupt his mother right now. Yes, best to leave her alone for the moment. He left a note on his desk about where he was going, and flew out his window to his sensei's favorite waterfall.

He landed on a rock and saw the green alien floating in mid-air in front of the waterfall, meditating of course. His sensei hated to be interrupted, but Gohan felt that if he didn't talk to someone… he didn't know what he'd do. He hadn't really talked to anyone since… since his father died.

He rose from his rock and floated over to where Piccolo was, and just sort of hovered next to him in silence. It was a few moments before Piccolo spoke.

"What do you want, kid?" he growled. Only Gohan could detect the slight concern. But even if he couldn't, he would still continue with his original intent.

"To talk," he said simply. Piccolo momentarily cracked open an eye to glare at Gohan curiously. "About what?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever," he mumbled.

"You start then," said Piccolo. He kept his one eye on Gohan as the half-saiyan fidgeted, gathering the courage and the words to say what he meant to say.

"It's all my fault." Piccolo didn't have to ask what. "Everything that's going on right now at home, it's all my fault. If I had listened to Dad, I would have killed Cell when I had the chance and dad would be alive. Mom would be happy, and Goten would've had a father. But I didn't. Dad's dead and he isn't coming back this time. Goten won't let me near him, so mom has to take care of him all by herself, on top of everything else which is more than a handful for her and I'm just dead weight. All of it is my fault."

Piccolo snorted, and Gohan glared at him. "Don't be so selfish, kid," said the Namek. Gohan turned from glaring to staring. Selfish? How? Piccolo wasn't finished.

"It's not all your fault. First, if Cell hadn't been made, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have killed millions of people along with your father. You would never have had the choice to listen to your father or not. So it's Gero's and Cell's fault. Second, it's your father's fault. Think about it," he said quickly, because Gohan was about to interrupt him angrily, "if Goku had come back and hadn't given us that 'better for the planet' bullshit, your mother would be happy and you and your brother would have a father." Gohan agreed. He understood what Piccolo was saying, and knew he wasn't all to blame. He'd known that from the start. But he still felt he was most to blame, and it didn't help to drive his mother's conversation out of his mind.

"I heard mom tell Bulma about how much easier it would be with only one of us," he whispered. If Piccolo didn't have super-sensitive ears, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.

"Did she specify?" Gohan shook his head. "Then forget it. Everyone's had thoughts like that, even you."

"I know, and I do," he swallowed. "But the more I think about it, the more I think that," he ran a hand through his hair, "…she's right." Piccolo looked at Gohan with both eyes now. What he said in the next few moments could affect his student for the rest of his life.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Gohan seemed panicked. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't want to hurt mom, but I don't want to be a burden either. I don't know how I'll provide for myself. I'm only twelve!" By now Piccolo had uncrossed his legs and hovered opposite of Gohan.

"If you came here for me to tell you what to do, then you came for nothing." Gohan's desperation increased, but Piccolo was still talking. "You can make your own decisions, and nothing I say will affect them. You're old enough to know this. But before you decide, let me give you this advice." He placed a hand on his student's shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"Do what you feel is right, but make sure that no matter what you choose to do, you have no regrets." Gohan nodded his head in understanding, and his sensei returned to his meditation. The conversation was over.

_Love you always, Gohan._

Gohan signed the letter he had written and folded it in its' envelope. He wrote _MOM_ on the outside, and left it on his desk in full view. It explained to Chichi why he was leaving, and that it was for the best. He'd also asked her not to tell Goten about him, the brother whose mere presence made him cry.

He went about his room and packed a few things in his pack. Clothes, a few capsules with food (stored in case of being sent to bed without dinner), books, and a few other things. He was all set to go. Just one more thing.

His brother's room was originally supposed to be across from his, but because of all the crying, Goten's crib was in the living room. Gohan, pack over his shoulder, came up to the crib with the sleeping six-month-old baby. No matter what Goten thought of him, Gohan loved his little brother more than anything.

"Goten," he whispered softly. "You might not remember me when you grow up, but I just want you to know that no matter where I go or what I do, I will always watch out for you." Goten didn't stir, and Gohan took this as a good sign. He silently watched the baby sleep, and might have stayed there watching all night. But he heard a creak upstairs, and decided that he'd better leave before his mother saw him here. With one final look around his home, Gohan opened the door, and walked out.

As many have said before, Gohan was like his father. Protective, heroic, and kind. Both ate enough food to feed a small army, and both had the famous Son grin.

And they both abandoned their families 'for the best'.

A/N: Again, I can't believe I'm posting! So please review, whether it's constructive criticism or burning hot flames. I don't care.

A/N 2: Oh yes, another note. Suggestions are welcome. If there is something you wish to see happen, please add it in your review. Thanks!


	2. The Watcher

A/N: Finally, here's chapter 2. Sorry it took so long. I thought when I started this, I had it all figured out what I was going to do. But then I was attacked by more ideas, and three major plot lines revealed themselves. I can't decide which one I'm going to do, but they're all so good, I'm trying to merge them all together into one. So, this is the only thing I can post that won't mess with any of the plots.

Disclaimer: If I owned this, this story would have been in the anime. Think about it.

* * *

Chapter 2 – The Watcher

"He will have to learn, I know, that all people are not just – that all men and women are not true. Teach him that for every scoundrel there is a hero that for every enemy there is a friend. Let him learn early that the bullies are the easiest people to lick." – Abraham Lincoln

Five-year-old Goten sat on the corner of the playground, far away so no one could see him. School had ended ten minutes ago, but that didn't mean people off the street couldn't see him. He didn't want someone to see him cry. He wasn't crying, but just in case…

It had been a typical day at school. He was smarter than everyone else there. They would be too, if they had Chichi for a mother. No one wanted to play with him because he was the brainy kid, therefore un-cool. Then, Tommy and his little gang stole his lunch money. He would have stopped them, but two things prevented him.

One, the playground attendant, whose back had been turned while his money was stolen, was now focused on them. It would look like he was stealing money from them instead. And two: his mother's voice in his head.

'_I'm teaching you to fight so that you'll be as strong as your father some day, Goten. I want you to be big and strong. But I never, ever, want to hear about you using your powers to show off or hurt someone else. You hear me, Goten? Don't use your powers, especially at school.'_

'_Don't use your powers.' _He sniffed, trying to hold back his tears. He didn't want to hurt anybody, especially by accident. But because he couldn't use them, he had to go hungry throughout the day. His stomach growled.

Usually after school, he'd go to his friend Trunks' house, because Trunks was home schooled and didn't get to see Goten at all otherwise. But he didn't want to go over there right now. Not when he felt he might cry. Trunks would call him a crybaby.

Son Goten was not a crybaby.

"Hey kid, what's wrong with you?"

Goten looked up quickly. He hadn't heard anybody approach, and his hearing was better than most, being half-saiyan and all. Whoever was there must be really light on his feet.

There was a boy standing over him. An older boy, the kind his mom called hooligans. He was really tall, to Goten anyway. He had longish, spiky black hair, dark, almost black eyes, wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt.

"My mom says not to talk to strangers," Goten said, matter-of-factly. The hooligan's mouth twitched into a small smile. He looked kind of sad. Goten wondered why. Maybe his lunch money got taken too. He heard there were big-kid bullies.

"She means bad strangers, people who want to hurt you. Do I look like a bad stranger?" The older boy smiled at him. Goten thought about it. He didn't seem bad.

"No," he admitted. There was a moment of silence. "Are you a hooligan?"

The boy laughed. "Why?"

"My mom says older boys are hooligans." The boy laughed again, and then sat down next to Goten. Surprisingly, Goten didn't scoot away.

"No, I'm not a hooligan. Only bad boys are hooligans, and I'm not a bad boy."

"Oh."

"So, what's the matter with you kid?" Goten looked the other way. If he told the other boy why he was sitting on a wet playground, he might laugh. But Goten didn't want the other boy to go away, either. It was considered cool if an older boy talked to you. Even cooler if it was by their own free will.

"A bunch of other kids took my lunch money," he mumbled finally. He didn't think the older boy could hear him that well.

"Really? Why?" Goten looked up at him in surprise. He must have really good hearing, too.

"'Cause I'm smart. Nobody wants to be nice to the smart person." There, he said it. Now the older boy was gonna laugh or leave. Or both. No one liked the smart kid, after all.

"That's not a good reason to steal someone's money. I'm smart, too."

"Really?" Goten looked up at him in awe. Another smart person? Neat!

"Yep. I'm really smart. So, if you're so smart, why didn't you defend yourself, take your money back, or tell a teacher?"

"The teachers thought I was lying and forgot my money at home. The other teacher would think I was stealing from them, and my mom said not to hurt people at school." The other boy stared at him for a moment. He didn't blink or move his head, just looked at him. Goten fidgeted nervously.

"You have powers."

"What?" Goten snapped his head back to the boy. How did he know?

"It's okay, kid. I have powers, too."

"You do? Really?"

"Really. Why does your mom say you can't use your powers at school?" He seemed genuinely curious. Goten liked him even better. There was nothing Trunks and he hated more than adults who pretended to be interested in you.

"She says I might hurt somebody. Or show off." There was another long stretch of silence as the older boy thought and Goten suddenly found himself fascinated with his pants.

"She didn't say you couldn't defend yourself, you know." Goten looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "She didn't say you couldn't defend yourself against bullies. She just meant not to use your powers when you don't have to. And she's right. You just don't show off whenever you want. It makes your powers less special. But it's okay if someone's hurting you. You're allowed to fight back then."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You wouldn't even have to use all your powers, or even hurt them. Just enough to make them stop. Maybe after that, the other kids will want to be nice to you. Plus, your mother doesn't really need to know." Yeah, right. Chichi finds out everything.

"How do you know so much about my mom?"

"I have a mom just like her," he said, smiling. It was that same sad smile. "Do you have somewhere to go? Someone might be looking for you."

"Trunks!" He had forgotten all about him. He grabbed his back pack and started running. "Thank you! He called back to the boy. He stopped at the sidewalk, and remembered something. He didn't know the boys name. He turned around to ask, but he was gone.

His eyes widened. He scanned the playground, and then looked down both sides of the sidewalk. No boy. He shrugged his shoulders and ran to CC.

He couldn't wait to tell Trunks!

* * *

"Hey brainy, you got any lunch money!" It was Thursday, two days after the mysterious boy had talked to Goten, and their conversation had been repeating in his head continuously since then. He was just itching to do what he had suggested. And now was the moment.

"Maybe," he said coolly. The entire playground was watching now, except for the attendant, who was distracted by one of Tommy's friends.

"Wad'ya mean 'maybe'? Either you got it or you don't. So give it to me nice and easy, and you might not get hurt." Tommy and his gang closed in around him Tommy was a big kid, the kind that even fourth graders were scared of. There were rumors that he even shaved. But Goten just stood calm and cool.

"No."

"Have it your way, smarty pants. Dill, hold his arms while I force it out of him." A mean, scrawny looking kid stepped out of the circle to stand just behind Goten. Just as he started to slide his arms under Goten's shoulders, Goten reacted.

He stomped his foot down on Dill's foot, and the boy immediately let go of him and hopped away, whining with pain. The other boys just stared in awe at Goten. It was the first time the shrimp had ever retaliated.

"Still want my lunch money, Tommy?" Goten asked, a Trunks-like smirk on his face. Hey, he could pick up a few things. Tommy's face turned red, and he charged at Goten, fist raised and bellowing with rage. He was like an angry, red train. Everyone waited breathlessly, expecting the sickening crunch of a broken nose.

It never came. Goten had side stepped just in time, and, very lightly, jabbed him in the stomach. Tommy crashed to the ground, sucking in breath after breath. Apparently Goten knocked the wind out of him. He'd have to watch it next time.

Uh oh. The attendant was coming over. He paled. This was bad. She would think he had attacked Tommy, and she would take him to the office, or give him detention. Or worse: she could call his mother. He gulped.

Apparently Tommy thought so, too. "Ms. Watters," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "Goten punched me really hard." Fake tears came to his eyes. "He wanted my lunch money 'cause he forgot his, and I told him no and then he-"

"Stop your explaining, Thomas. I saw the whole thing. You're little distraction didn't work. You tried to attack Goten first, which means you and Dillian both get detention. Come along."

Goten watched with repressed joy as both boys were held by their ears as they were taken inside. When the door closed behind them, there was dead silence on the playground. His happiness evaporated. 'They probably think I'm a weirdo now.'

But then, he heard something. Was that… clapping? Soon it got louder, and more joined in, until finally the entire playground was clapping and yelling and whistling.

"Goten, that was so cool," yelled a blond-haired kid on the monkey bars.

"Yeah, that was awesome!" said another from the jungle gym.

"'Bout time someone showed Tommy whose boss!" said a girl at hopscotch.

"Hey Goten, want to play with us?"

"Yeah, Goten! Come play with us!"

Unbeknownst to Goten, as he ran across the playground playing with his newfound friends, was the person standing outside the gate watching them. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt. His hair was blond now instead of black, and his eyes were blue, or some might say teal. He watched with a small smile as Goten screamed and laughed with the other kids.

"Good for you, Goten," he whispered. He closed a camcorder he held in his hand and started to walk away. Like he said almost five years ago, he would always watch out for him. "Good for you."

* * *

"Oh Goten, you look just like your father." Goten blushed and looked at his feet. His mother had made him a gi that was a miniature copy of his father's, except the sleeves were longer. It was his first day of second grade, and the seven-year-old wanted to look his best.

He knew he looked like his dad. He had seen lots of pictures, and he always enjoyed it when his mom talked about him. Except when it made her sad. She often got upset when she talked about his dad. Sometimes she would even get sad for no reason at all, or just at little things. Like one time Goten had found a round red hat when he was only four. He had shown it to his mother proudly, expecting praise. Instead she had burst into tears. He never found out what she'd done with it.

He quickly ate his breakfast, which was large enough to feed a small army. He sometimes wondered how his mom could cook so much so fast. He mentally shrugged. Must be a mom thing.

He picked up his school bag and walked out the door, his mom following right behind him.

"You behave today, Goten. No starting fights, no pranks, no correcting the teacher-"

"But that only happened once!"

"And try not to get to dirty. Remember, no talking to strangers and look both ways before crossing the street."

"Okay." They stopped and Chichi knelt down in front of him.

"Your first day of second grade. I can't believe it."

"Aw, mom," Goten groaned before he was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so proud of you, Goten."

"Thanks mom." She still continued to hold onto him. After a few moments, he finally managed to get enough air to talk.

"Uh, mom? I don't want to be late…"

"Oh, right," she said, quickly putting him back down.

He called for Nimbus, and clambered on the yellow cloud before his mother decided to give him another hug. Once he was on, the cloud started to fly away.

"Have a good day!" he heard her call.

"You too!" he yelled back, but he wasn't sure if she heard him. Nimbus was traveling pretty fast. They'd be there in no time.

"Here's good, Nimbus," he said, about twenty minutes later. He always got off the cloud at the edge of Satan City. Even he thought a flying yellow cloud was a little weird.

He quickly walked towards Satan Elementary, eager to start his first day of second grade. He made it in three minutes, and could see his best friends sitting by the door, waiting for him. He waved back and started to walk over when he heard a strange noise.

He glanced around. It had sounded like a camera. He looked to his side. A little ways off, a parent was taking a picture of her daughter. Oh, that was it. He shrugged, and walked over to his friends.

He didn't notice the person across the street stuff a camera into his pocket.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if it was disappointing. I just don't want to limit the options mentioned in my first author's note.

Did Goten seem a little too smart? I always thought that, with Chichi as his mother, Goten is a smart kid, just really innocent and naïve. He could be just as smart as Gohan, for all I know. Even if he didn't know what a wizard was.

Suggestions are welcome (especially to get me through this 3 different plots thing) and, as always, **_REVIEW!_**

Thank you.


	3. The Paper

A/N: Apologies/Excuses are at the bottom. I expect by now all you want to do is read the chapter.

So, here it is!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – The Paper**

"_The truth is out there, but so are the lies". -- Dana Scully_

"And if you take this ratio and divided it by r, you will see that the sum equals…" Mr. Mitchell's voice droned on and on as the advanced algebra class of Orange Star High slowly went to sleep or gazed out the window daydreaming. The fact that the highest grade in the class was a B+ came as no surprise to anyone, including Mr. Mitchell. He'd just shrug his shoulders and continue with his lecture.

"So if you divide c by a, the eccentricity will be…"

'_Man, what a boring class_,' thought Videl Satan, as she pretended to take notes and pay attention. Actually she was doodling. Why take notes of gibberish when she wouldn't understand them later on anyway? Much better to do something creative. She glanced at her watch.

This watch was different than any other watch in Orange Star High school. Besides telling time, it was also a two- way communicator between her and the Chief of Satan City Police. When she first got her Junior Police badge, they called her every single day, regardless of the time. Not anymore. While they still called her, it was always before or after school. They didn't want to disrupt her studies, especially since there was another hero in the city that could fight during school hours.

Which meant she was stuck in school while some blond airhead patrolled the city. Not that she had anything against blonds. Two of her best friends, Sharpner and Erasa, were blonds. But this one just pissed her off to no end.

She looked at the drawing she had finished, looking like she was going over her notes. She mentally laughed. It was a doodle of her beating up the Goldfighter. The blond haired, blue eyed, magician fighter had first shown up in Satan City two years ago when he stopped a fourteen-year-old girl from getting raped. At first the story could only get on tabloids, right alongside with alien babies in space pods being sent to Earth to destroy it. He finally made it to the Satan Tribune by stopping a robbery in broad daylight, taking down eight armed robbers without a scratch.

No one knew what to feel about the new hero. His intentions were unknown, his past undiscovered. No one had even really spoken to him or gotten a close up photo. But his deeds had been nothing but good. After two years, not one law suit or complaint against him. In fact, at least a dozen or two people in the city owed their lives to him.

And then there was Hercule. He had made a public speech about the young fighter.

"This _boy_ is nothing more than a magician. A fake. If he were a real fighter, he wouldn't have to use all those mirrors and wires and disappearing acts. He probably made up all those crimes so he could become famous. He's just trying to steal all the glory from my Videl, who's the real hero of the city. And everyone knows that he doesn't stand a chance against me, the defeater of Cell!" Here, Hercule had struck a pose and fans and the press went wild. They loved their hero. "And if those things couldn't fool me or destroy Cell, then he has no right to be in my city!"

Videl more or less had the same feelings. She added a few more bruises and tears to her drawing for good measure. This man, more of a boy at the time, just waltzed right into the city and started fighting crime and using his fancy tricks. There was no way a person could disappear or fly or go from one place to another in a split-second. It was impossible.

She stabbed at the drawing angrily. He didn't even have the courage to talk to her or approach her, asking if it was okay for him to fight in her father's city. The closest she'd ever gotten to him was two months ago when she ran onto the scene of a robbery, only to see the Goldfighter finishing up. And then there was the time that a new reporter asked if he was her fighting partner. Videl heard he was released from the hospital a few days ago.

Videl felt something tap her elbow. She looked over and saw a folded piece of paper. Knowing who it was from, she picked it up and read;

**Cool drawing, Videl.**

_Sharpner, that's not funny. Videl, while I admire your artistic abilities, you need to just let it go. After all, he really hasn't done anything to you._

She rolled her eyes, picked up a pencil and replied;

Sharpner, thank you.

Erasa, I'll let it go when he leaves for good.

She got the note back a few minutes later.

_Whatever suits you._

She scrunched up the paper and threw it at the trashcan. Yes, it did suit her. That punk needed to be taught a lesson, the sooner the better. She was Videl Satan, daughter of Hercule Satan, the defeater of Cell and savior of the earth. She would not let this freak show her and her father up.

"Videl, are you coming?"

She glanced up from her drawing to see half the class was empty, and that everyone was heading towards the door. The bell must have rung and she had probably ignored it. She stuffed the notebook in her bag and followed her friends to their next class.

Gold fighter bashing could be done later.

* * *

"You should really teach that guy a lesson," said Sharpner as they walked to Orange Star Elementary. It was Sharpner's job to pick up his little sister everyday after school. Sometimes, Videl and Erasa would tag along for the hell of it.

"Sharpner, knock it off," whined Erasa. "The guy hasn't done anything bad, why does he need to get beat up?"

"I would," said Videl, ignoring Erasa's comment. "If the little bastard actually stuck around. He pulls his disappearing act right after he saves someone. It makes you wonder what he's really up to."

"What if he's not up to something?" persisted Erasa. She was the only one who seemed to hold any respect for the young fighter. It made sense. After all, he had saved her father, who had been a hostage during a bank robbery. Not a day goes by in her house without thanking the Gold Fighter for saving his life.

"Everyone's always up to something. All you have to do is be patient and they'll eventually show their true selves. Besides, why would he run if he didn't have something to hide?" asked Videl.

"Maybe he's shy?" she suggested.

"_Shy_! Erasa, in the time I've known you, you have said some pretty dumb things, but that is the worst."

The rest of the way to the school, Erasa remained quiet and thought about what she'd buy during her next mall trip, while Videl and Sharpener continued to talk about the Gold Fighter.

"Maybe he hires people to commit the crimes, and then he comes in like a hero?" suggested Sharpner as they reached the school. "It would explain how he never gets hurt or loses."

"That could be it, but it doesn't seem right," said Videl. "None of the people we've arrested have said anything like that, and we've got some pretty tough interrogators."

"Then maybe…" Videl tuned Sharpner out as he spewed out dozens of obscure theories. What would it matter, anyway? Until the Goldfighter actually decided to stay long enough for an interview, no one would ever truly know what he's doing here.

As she was thinking of different techniques to catch and question the glowing hero, she forgot to look where she was going and walked right into someone, derailing her train of thought as she fell to the ground.

"Hey, watch where your going!" she yelled at the still stationary figure in front of her while trying to ignore the pain in her body. Whoever she walked into was as hard as a brick wall.

"Sorry," she thought she heard him mumble, and he started to quickly walk away.

"Videl, are you all right?" asked Erasa as she held out her hand to help her friend.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she grunted as she ignored the hand and pushed herself up, gritting her teeth as she did. Cement was not a good place to fall.

"Who was that guy? I haven't seen him around school. He sure was a cutey," sighed Erasa with hearts in her eyes. Videl snorted at her best friend.

"Don't know, don't care. But whoever he is, he should watch where he's going next time."

"But Videl, you walked into him."

"Well, he shouldn't stand in the middle of the sidewalk like that."

Before an argument could start, Sharpner returned with a blond seven year old and they started their separate walks home.

And Videl momentarily forgot about the man she bumped into.

* * *

"And tomorrow your essay on the theme of injustice is due, as well as…"

Ms. Steven's english class was almost as dull and lifeless as Mr. Mitchell's algebra class. The only difference was Ms. Stevens was a fairly new teacher and still had some idealistic enthusiasm in her voice.

Not that it made any of the material more interesting.

"Psst.. hey Videl, did you do your essay yet?" Sharpner whispered.

"Of course not, I've had about ten calls this past week alone," she whispered back.

"Damn. I was hoping I could copy yours."

"Maybe you two could work on it now since your not doing anything," Erasa interrupted. "If you don't you guys will fail."

Videl rolled her eyes. Fail? Yeah right. Not one teacher in the school had the guts to fail her unless they wanted to deal with the wraith that is Hercule Satan. Not even the time she managed to blow up the science lab when they were making volcanoes in the eight grade did she fail. In fact, she received an A+.

"Class, may I have your attention please!" Ms. Steven shrilled as she banged a meter stick on her desk, effectively gaining everyone's attention. "Now, I know this is your final year at Orange Star High, well, at least for most of you. So, I have something special in mind."

"Yipee," muttered Videl, only loud enough for Erasa and Sharpner to hear. They both snickered.

"I expect this assignment to be taken seriously," she continued, ignorant of the three friends, "especially with the amount of the time I'm giving you to complete this. It will be due during the last week of school, which is in three months."

Most of the class shifted forward in their seats. Three months for an assignment? This must be big.

"This will be a written assignment," the class groaned, but she continued, "and I expect it to be at the very least two pages and one thousand words long."

A boy in the front row raised his hand, and the teacher nodded at him.

"Ms. Steven, what's the subject of the paper?"

"Oh, silly me. Thanks, Mr. Noles, for reminding me. The subject is anything." The class broke out into murmers. A paper on anything? "Yes, anything. It can be about a person, a place, a short story you've created, a paper on your summer vacation, absolutely anything."

"So, you're saying," asked a jock in the back, "that I could write a paper on my dresser, if I wanted to?"

"Yes, Mr. Willard, you can, as long as you can find a thousand words to say about it."

At that moment, the final bell of the day rang, and the class started to leave. "Have a good weekend, and I hope to read some very good papers from you all," she called out after them.

"So Videl, what are you going to write your paper on?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, I do," interrupted Sharpner. "I'm going to write about my exercise regimen, and how it helped me be in the shape I am today." He flexed his arms, causing a group of cheerleaders to start giggling flirtatiously.

"What, you mean how your all brawn and no brains?" asked Videl, and she and Erasa started laughing as he seemed to deflate with embarrassment. "What are you writing your paper on, Erasa?" she asked after they managed to catch their breath.

"I was thinking on doing a paper on how I want to be a model and become more famous than Stella Jewel," she said enthusiastically. Stella Jewel was the world's most beautiful supermodel and Ms. Universe thirteen times in a row, and was also Erasa's hero.

"Good luck with that. See you guys later," she said as she started to walk home.

"Bye Videl," her friends called back.

* * *

'What am I going to write about?' she thought as she walked home. A thousand different ideas circled her brain, but none were enough to get her excited about writing the paper. Sure, some would be easy, like writing about her father or the Cell Games, but it had all been done before.

Across the street, she could see a group of people crowded around a television display. "What could be so interesting over there?" she wondered aloud. Deciding there was no other way of finding out, she walked over and stood on tiptoe to look over someone's shoulder.

It was a news broadcast. Videl resisted the want to snort in annoyance. She was about to turn back and leave when she finally heard what the reporter was saying.

"And earlier this afternoon, another miraculous save by the Gold Fighter, who managed to take down thirteen armed robbers in Satan Mall without a single casualty. And now we have some footage from the security cameras in the wall. Viewer discretion is advised."

As the tap played, and Videl watched the young fighter take down each robber effortlessly, her hatred for him grew, and she turned and stormed away from the crowd of people, who were unaware she had even been there.

How dare he? How DARE he show up in this town and take over? It was her job, HERS, Videl Satan's, daughter of Hercule! It was her job to take down the bad guys and save the day, not some freaky kid that liked to play hide and seek with the city. Someone should expose that son of a bitch so thateveryone would know how terrible his being here was.

She stopped dead. That was it. That's it! She knew what she would write her paper on. The Gold Fighter! She'd write about everything he'd done. She would find him, interview him, find out his past and intentions. She would write and let everyone know who the Gold Fight really is.

She started to walk again, a bit more pep in her step than before, when a problem crossed her mind. What if she couldn't find him and force him to speak? She wouldn't have the material to write the paper.

Oh well, she could write enough just explaining everything he's done, and that would get her a passing grade. But it went beyond school know. A paper on the true habits of the Gold Fighter would be of national, maybe even world interest. The people deserved to know who this fighter was!

"We'll find out who you really are, Goldfighter. Even if I have to make it up."

* * *

A/N: I am sorry this took so long.

First, I think I mentioned before (if not here than it's in 'Remember the Good Times') that back in April I had a big state test. Well, that lasted two weeks, and then before we knew IT the end of the year was approaching and the teachers were just cramming all this homework in at the last minute. So, I decided to wait until the end of the school year, and post on the last day of school, which was June 10. Why'd it take so long?

Second, I know I've said before I'm having problems with the plot. However, I've made some progress and was able to get this without ruining other ideas that may come later. And this one proved difficult to write, and I don't know why.

So, sorry again for making you wait so long. I have absolutely no idea when Chapter 4 will come out. Suggestions are welcome.

**_REVIEW!_**


	4. NOT A CHAPTER

THIS FIC IS NOT BEING ABANDONED!

I've been contemplating whether or not to post this or not, but decided to after an e-mail from Tellimicus Sundance.

Okay, school has started up once again. That, along with other responsibilities as finding a job, keeping good grades, getting my license, chores and at least two hours worth of homework, I have very little time to myself. As such, I decided that if I should continue to write at all, I shall focus on one story at a time.

That DOES NOT mean I have given up on 'For the Best'. I chose to finish 'Remember the Good Times' first because a) it was the first one I started and b) I had a finished outline for it already. 'For the Best', to be honest, I never really intended to post, and since I have (on a dare), I'm surprised by how many people claim to like it. Even just one would have surprised me.

The outline, though not finished yet, is 2/3 of the way done and is coming slowly but surely. So, until I have either finished the outline or finished 'Remember the Good Times' (whichever comes first), I'm sorry to say that 'For the Best' is on hold.

'FOR THE BEST' SHALL CONTINUE!


End file.
